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‘Nothing but the best was good enough for her. But I mustn’t stand chatting. The bathroom’s next door. Come down when you’re ready
.'

The door clicked gently to and Laura sank on to a nearby chair. She felt utterly exhausted and not in the least like having tea with Brad Stuart. Looking around, she drank in the luxury of the room. This, she thought, was sheer heaven. It would be foolish to return to London because of a few words with her employer. There was no comparison between this and the dingy bedsitter she had left behind.

Crossing to the window, she looked out—beyond the lawns and trees surrounding the house, to the patchwork of fields in the distance, the faintly visible grey ribbon of road along which she had travelled. Comforted by the serenity of her surroundings, she slipped out of her crumpled suit and hunted through her suitcase for a tailored navy dress which would make her look much more like the efficient secretary she was supposed to be.

The bathroom was cool and green, and as Laura showered she felt some of the tension ease from her body. Perhaps she had been a trifle hasty in judging Brad Stuart? He had a perfect right to be annoyed when she was three days late, even though the fault was not strictly hers. She would have felt the same herself had the positions been reversed.

Brushing out her long auburn hair, which she had fastened up so carefully—was it only that morning?— she fastened it back into the customary knot she wore when working. She applied a mere touch of shadow to her eyes, carefully smoothed on coral pink lipstick, and when ten minutes later she presented herself in Brad Stuart’s study looked smart and confident, even though her heart was pounding rapidly.

He sat at an enormous leather-covered desk, motioning her to sit as he continued writing. Cherry red curtains were draped at the windows through which Laura could see the Welsh hills rising majestically in the distance. The deep-piled carpet was in the same clear red. Books lined the walls and two well-worn armchairs were placed on either side of the marble fireplace, where logs burned cheerfully. The expensive smell of leather and Brad Stuart’s cigar filled the room.

After several minutes Laura began to feel uncomfortable. Surely his writing could wait until after their discussion? It was difficult to believe Mrs. Jennings’ statement that he was a gentleman. A gentleman would hardly keep her waiting, unless he was purposely trying to test her patience.

At this point in her thoughts the housekeeper entered and placed a tray on a low table beside Laura. ‘Shall I pour, Mr. Stuart?’

'No, no, Miss Templeton will do it. Thank you, Jenny.

He looked at Laura through the rising smoke of his cigar. ‘As you’re my secretary I shall expect you to carry out small duties such as pouring tea, or even making it if Mrs. Jennings is out. There may also be isolated occasions when I wish to entertain and would want you to act as hostess
.'

‘I see.’ Laura sat forward on the edge of her seat preparing to pour the tea. Unaccountably she felt pleased by his suggestion, even though he was taking it somewhat for granted that she intended staying despite her
earlier outspoken words. Deep down she , knew she wanted to stay. She loved the house already and would be a fool to turn down such a well-paid job.

One thing that did puzzle her was why his sister could not help him entertain. David had told , her he lived with his sister, so it was reasonable to presume that she would be the one to stand at his side—not Laura, about whom he knew very little at that moment. Perhaps she would find out later, she decided, handing Brad Stuart his tea.

‘You’ll find it very quiet here after London.’ He tilted back his chair, regarding her gravely. ‘It’s one of the reasons I like the place—although I know it’s not everyone’s choice. I can lose myself in my work without fear of interruption—except the infernal telephone. Naturally I shall expect you to take all calls from now on—only disturbing me if it’s really necessary.’

Laura nodded. ‘I understand, and I think I shall like it here. My parents kept a farm. It’s one of the things I really miss.’

‘Then why move to the city?’ His eyes glinted cruelly. ‘Or perhaps you were husband-hunting? Thought there’d be better prospects?’

Laura fought back her rising anger at his deliberate attempt to taunt her. If she wanted to keep the job she must keep a tight rein on her temper. ‘To tell you the truth,’ she said evenly, ‘my parents were killed in a car accident. The farm went to my brother, but he sold it and flew to America. I decided to move to London, foolishly thinking that if I saved enough money I could buy the farm back one day. I was soon disillusioned. I used up what little money I had while at training college and when I eventually got a job it took all my salary to keep myself.’

'I see.’ His face softened. ‘Well, perhaps we’d better get to work. I’ll explain briefly what I expect you to do.’

Laura listened attentively while studying his face. He really was extraordinarily handsome, she decided— probably in his early thirties. Dark, strong features, a well shaped, wide mouth, determined chin and those keen grey eyes which had lost their metallic glint for the moment. His deep voice was pleasant and soothing when he was not being dictatorial. She almost found herself liking him. If only she hadn’t made that mistake things would have been different. As it was he hadn’t much faith in her capabilities. It would be up to her to show him; to prove that David was right in his recommendation.

‘And now,’ Brad Stuart continued, ‘if you’ve finished your tea I’ll show you your office.’ He opened a door in the wall behind him and waited for Laura to enter.

She looked in dismay at the small dark room. ‘I can’t work in here,’ she said quietly.

‘And why not? You’ve everything you need
.'
His brows met in a straight line.

Laura walked further into the room. ‘B—but look at it!’ An ancient typewriter sat on the littered desk. Handleless drawers were half open. The entire room had an air of neglect. None of the smart modem equipment she would have expected a famous author and wild life expert to possess. And what little light came through the tiny window did nothing to alleviate the gloom.

‘I can’t believe it. Did your last typist walk out on you?’ His lips tightened and although he did not speak Laura knew she was right. ‘It will take me a week to sort myself out.’

‘That was the idea of you coming a few days early, Miss Templeton.’

Laura ignored the sarcasm. ‘Where are the filing-cabinets? Surely not here
?'
Pulling open a huge wooden cupboard, she stared in fascinated horror as an avalanche of papers fell to the ground,

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Stuart. I’ll put these papers back, but I just cannot work under these conditions.’ She hesitated as she saw his thunderous expression, but decided she might as well carry on. She had nothing to lose at this stage. ‘I understand now why you can’t keep anyone. It—it’s impossible!’

‘And just what do you suggest I should do?’

The scathing tones made Laura flinch, but she was determined to express her views. ‘For a start I should need a bigger office, a room with more windows. Electric light’s no good for your eyes all day. Then a proper filing-cabinet—and, of course, a new typewriter—preferably an electric one.’

She stopped. Mr. Stuart had closed the door and was leaning against it, listening, his head to one side.

‘Do go on, Miss Templeton. No one’s ever told me what I should do before.’ His eyes were granite-hard and Laura swallowed the sudden constricting lump in her throat.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn, but now you’ll realise why you’ve had difficulty with staff. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to my room. I think I’d better leave tomorrow after all.’

He made no offer to move and Laura stood awkwardly in front of him. She would have preferred to make a dignified exit after her outburst instead of being compelled to face him like a naughty schoolgirl.

‘Now that you’ve had your say perhaps I can have
mine.’ He folded his arms, regarding her coolly. ‘It is the incompetence of so-called secretaries that has caused this chaos. If I could type I’d do the work myself, but I’ve no time or inclination to learn so I’m forced to depend on such as you. Am I to take it that the job’s too much? That even with your experience you would be unable to cope?’

Mockery gleamed in his dark eyes, stinging Laura into retaliation. It was impossible to restrain her temper when he spoke to her in such a condescending manner. ‘I have no doubt that I could cope, Mr. Stuart, even under such depressing conditions.’

He looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. ‘Perhaps it is somewhat small. I’d never really thought about it.’ His voice unconsciously took on a pleading note, causing Laura to look at him sharply. ‘Look, Miss Templeton, I have some work that must be sent off tomorrow. Would you help me out?’

Laura hesitated only a moment. There was no rush to return to London. If she was honest with herself she would admit that she did not really want to go back. If Brad Stuart was not so. unsufferably rude she might even be able to put up with this poky office.

‘Very well. Do you want me to start now?’ She was almost sure she saw relief in his eyes, but the next moment, his face expressionless, he said in the authoritative tones she was beginning to expect:

‘The rest of the day is yours. I shall expect you here at nine sharp in the morning. Breakfast is at eight in the dining-room. Mrs. Jennings will show you where it is.’

DETERMINED not to antagonise Brad Stuart any further, Laura rose early the next morning. At eight o’clock she entered the dining-room where she had eaten a solitary meal the evening before. Now the curtains were drawn back, allowing the sun’s watery rays to fill the room. She crossed to the window through which she could see the shrub-lined drive along which she had trudged so wearily yesterday afternoon. Laura smiled. Everything seemed so different this morning. She had slept well and felt refreshed, ready to cope with any eventuality'. Perhaps her employer, too, had overcome his ill temper and would treat her with a little more courtesy ?

Turning to the table, she admired the crisp white linen and sparkling silver, but was surprised to note that again it was set for one. Laura sat down as Mrs. Jennings appeared with her breakfast. ‘Here you are, love. I hope you slept well?’

‘Wonderfully, thank you, Mrs. Jennings. Am I to eat alone? I expected Mr. Stuart and his sister.’

‘Bless you no, miss,’ replied the housekeeper, placing a plate of piping hot bacon and egg before Laura. ‘Mr. Stuart eats in his study. Up at six, he was—says he works better in the early morning. As for Miss Helen, she has all her meals in her room.’

‘It must make an awful lot of work for you. Why can’t they eat in here?’ It was inconsiderate to say the least of Brad Stuart and his sister to expect Mrs.
Jennings to run round after them, thought Laura crossly. Although from what little she had seen of her employer he seemed to live in a world of his own, preoccupied with his work to the exclusion of all else. Was his sister moulded along the same lines? she mused.

Mrs. Jennings shrugged. ‘It’s no concern of mine. Mr. Stuart pays me well, so I do as I’m told without any questions.’

It was a strange household, decided Laura, but she was inclined to agree with Mrs. Jennings that it was none of their business. Even so as she ate her breakfast she could not help but wonder how Helen Stuart spent her days. She recalled the fleeting face at the window. In view of Mrs. Jennings’ -statement it seemed logical to believe that it belonged to Brad’s sister. Did she spend many hours in her room? There had certainly been no sign of her yesterday. It was as though they had the house to themselves. She wished now that she had asked David more about the occupants of Leastone Hall.

So immersed was Laura in thought that when Mrs. Jennings returned for her empty dishes she was surprised to. note that it was already a quarter to nine. Dashing up to her room, she repaired her make-up, arriving in Brad Stuart’s study at five minutes to nine.

He looked at his watch as she entered. ‘Good morning, Miss Templeton. You’re punctual today, I see.’

Laura bit her lip, wondering whether he would ever forget the incident. He had little hesitation in putting the blame on her, not once admitting that the fault could lie in his writing.

‘Sit down a moment. I’m afraid the whole of my last book will have to be retyped. Miss Barber made such a mess of it.’

I’m not surprised, thought Laura, using such an ancient typewriter. I can’t understand him. There’s no expense spared in the rest of the house, so why not make sure his secretary is well equipped? It doesn’t make sense. Unless he genuinely hasn’t given it a thought.

‘Are you listening, Miss Templeton?’ Her employer’s voice broke into her reverie. 'I said there are one or two points I should like to go over with you where I may not have made myself clear.’

Standing beside him as he explained, Laura became acutely aware of the strength of his personality and knew that if they had met in different circumstances she would have found him exceedingly attractive. As it was, his biting tongue and aggressive manner only succeeded in annoying her. She was accustomed to courtesy and friendliness and his display of rudeness put her instantly on her guard.

She suddenly realised that he had finished speaking and was looking at her expectantly.

‘You
do
understand? I know you have difficulty in reading my writing,’ a slight pause, ‘that’s why I’ve gone through this with you. You’ll get used to my scribble in time, but if you have any doubts do come and ask me.’ Laura nodded. ‘It’s perfectly clear, Mr. Stuart I became quite expert at deciphering people’s handwriting in my last job, so I don’t anticipate any difficulty in reading yours.'

He raised an expressive eyebrow. ‘Really! No one else seems able to transcribe my writing accurately. I even had my doubts about you—but we’ll see. I have to go out now, but you’ll find everything you need in the office.’ He thrust the papers into Laura’s hand, shrugged into his jacket and was gone.